JOHN  HENRY  NASH 


PAN'S       PIPES 


R  •  L  •  s 


M    D    C    C    C    C    X 


1  HE  world  in  which  we  live  has 
been  variously  said  and  sung  by 
the  most  ingenious  poets  and 
philosophers  :  these  reducing  it 
to  formulae  and  chemical  ingre- 
dients, those  striking  the  lyre  in 
high-sounding  measures  for  the 
handiwork  of  God.  What  expe- 
rience supplies  is  of  a  mingled 


tissue,  and  the  choosing  mind 
has  much  to  reject  before  it  can 
get  together  the  materials  of  a 
theory.  Dew  and  thunder,  de- 
stroying Attila  and  the  Spring 
lambkins,  belong  to  an  order  of 
contrasts  which  no  repetition  can 
assimilate.  There  is  an  uncouth, 
outlandish  strain  throughout  the 
web  of  the  world,  as  from  a  vexa- 
tious planet  in  the  house  of  life. 
Things  are  not  congruous  and 
wear  strange  disguises :  the  con- 
summate flower  is  fostered  out 
of  dung,  and  after  nourishing 
itself  awhile  with  heaven's  deli- 
cate distillations,  decays  again 


into  indistinguishable  soil;  and 
with  Caesar's  ashes,  Hamlet  tells 
us,  the  urchins  make  dirt  pies 
and  filthily  besmear  their  counte- 
nance. Nay,  the  kindly  shine  of 
summer,  when  tracked  home  with 
the  scientific  spyglass,  is  found 
to  issue  from  the  most  portentous 
nightmare  of  the  universe — the 
great,  conflagrant  sun  :  a  world 
of  hell's  squibs,  tumultuary,  roar- 
ing aloud,  inimical  to  life.  The 
sun  itself  is  enough  to  disgust  a 
human  being  of  the  scene  which 
he  inhabits;  and  you  would  not 
fancy  there  was  a  green  or  habi- 
table spot  in  a  universe  thus  aw- 


fully  lighted  up.  And  yet  it  is  by 
the  blaze  of  such  a  conflagration, 
to  which  the  fire  of  Rome  was 
but  a  spark,  that  we  do  all  our 
fiddling,  and  hold  domestic  tea- 
parties  at  the  arbour  door. 

The  Greeks  figured  Pan,  the 
godof  Nature,now  terribly  stamp- 
ing his  foot,  so  that  armies  were 
dispersed ;  now  by  the  woodside 
on  a  summer  noon  trolling  on  his 
pipe  until  he  charmed  the  hearts 
of  upland  ploughmen.  And  the 
Greeks,  in  so  figuring,  uttered  the 
last  word  of  human  experience. 
To  certain  smoke-dried  spirits 
matter  and  motion  and  elastic 


aethers,  and  the  hypothesis  of 
this  or  that  other  spectacled  pro- 
fessor, tell  a  speaking  story ;  but 
for  youth  and  all  ductile  and  con- 
genial minds,  Pan  is  not  dead, 
but  of  all  the  classic  hierarchy 
alone  survives  in  triumph ;  goat- 
footed,  with  a  gleeful  and  an  an- 
gry look,  the  type  of  the  shaggy 
world :  and  in  every  wood,  if  you 
go  with  a  spirit  properly  pre- 
pared, you  shall  hear  the  note  of 
his  pipe. 

For  it  is  a  shaggy  world,  and 
yet  studded  with  gardens;  where 
the  salt  and  tumbling  sea  re- 
ceives clear  rivers  running  from 


among  reeds  and  lilies;  fruitful 
and  austere ;  a  rustic  world ;  sun- 
shiny, lewd,  and  cruel.  What  is 
it  the  birds  sing  among  the  trees 
in  pairing- time?  What  means 
the  sound  of  the  rain  falling  far 
and  wide  upon  the  leafy  forest? 
To  what  tune  does  the  fisherman 
whistle,  as  he  hauls  in  his  net  at 
morning,  and  the  bright  fish  are 
heaped  inside  the  boat?  These 
are  all  airs  upon  Pan's  pipe ;  he 
it  was  who  gave  them  breath  in 
the  exultation  of  his  heart,  and 
gleefully  modulated  their  outflow 
with  his  lips  and  fingers.  The 
coarse  mirth  of  herdsmen,  shak- 


ing  the  dells  with  laughter  and 
striking  out  high  echoes  from  the 
rock  ;  the  tune  of  moving  feet  in 
the  lamplit  city,  or  on  the  smooth 
ball-room  floor;  the  hooves  of 
many  horses,  beating  the  wide 
pastures  in  alarm;  the  song  of 
hurrying  rivers  ;  the  colour  of 
clear  skies  ;  and  smiles  and  the 
live  touch  of  hands ;  and  the 
voice  of  things,  and  their  signifi- 
cant look,  and  the  renovating  in- 
fluence they  breathe  forth — these 
are  his  joyful  measures,  to  which 
the  whole  earth  treads  in  choral 
harmony.  To  this  music  the 
young  lambs  bound  as  to  a  tabor, 


and  the  London  shop-girl  skips 
rudely  in  the  dance.  For  it  puts 
a  spirit  of  gladness  in  all  hearts ; 
and  to  look  on  the  happy  side  of 
nature  is  common,  in  their  hours, 
to  all  created  things.  Some  are 
vocal  under  a  good  influence, 
are  pleasing  whenever  they  are 
pleased,  and  hand  on  their  hap- 
piness to  others,  as  a  child  who, 
looking  upon  lovely  things,  looks 
lovely.  Some  leap  to  the  strains 
with  unapt  foot,  and  make  a  halt- 
ing figure  in  the  universal  dance. 
And  some,  like  sour  spectators 
at  the  play,  receive  the  music  in- 
to their  hearts  with  an  unmov- 


ed  countenance,  and  walk  like 
strangers  through  the  general  re- 
joicing. But  let  him  feign  never 
so  carefully,  there  is  not  a  man 
but  has  his  pulses  shaken  when 
Pan  trolls  out  a  stave  of  ecstasy 
and  sets  the  world  a-singing. 

Alas,  if  that  were  all !  But  oft- 
entimes the  air  is  changed ;  and 
in  the  screech  of  the  night  wind, 
chasing  navies,  subverting  the 
tall  ships  and  the  rooted  cedar  of 
the  hills  ;  in  the  random  deadly 
levin  or  the  fury  of  headlong 
floods,  we  recognize  the  "dread 
foundation"  of  life  and  the  anger 
in  Pan's  heart.  Earth  wages  open 


war  against  her  children,  and  un- 
der her  softest  touch  hides  treach- 
erous claws.  The  cool  waters  in- 
vite us  in  to  drown ;  the  domestic 
hearth  burns  up  in  the  hour  of 
sleep,  and  makes  an  end  of  all. 
Everything  is  good  or  bad,  help- 
ful or  deadly,  not  in  itself,  but 
by  its  circumstances.  For  a  few 
bright  days  in  England  the  hur- 
ricane must  break  forth  and  the 
North  Sea  pay  a  toll  of  populous 
ships. 

And  when  the  universal  mu- 
sic has  led  lovers  into  the  paths 
of  dalliance,  confident  of  Nat- 
ure's sympathy,  suddenly  the  air 


shifts  into  a  minor,  and  death 
makes  a  clutch  from  his  ambus- 
cade below  the  bed  of  marriage. 
For  death  is  given  in  a  kiss ;  the 
dearest  kindnesses  are  fatal ;  and 
into  this  life,  where  one  thing 
preys  upon  another,  the  child  too 
often  makes  its  entrance  from  the 
mother's  corpse.  It  is  no  wonder, 
with  so  traitorous  a  scheme  of 
things,  if  the  wise  people  who  cre- 
ated for  us  the  idea  of  Pan  thought 
that  of  all  fears  the  fear  of  him 
was  the  most  terrible,  since  it  em- 
braces all.  And  still  we  preserve 
the  phrase  :  a  panic  terror.  To 
reckon  dangers  too  curiously,  to 


hearken  too  intently  for  the  threat 
that  runs  through  all  the  winning 
music  of  the  world,  to  hold  back 
the  hand  from  the  rose  because 
of  the  thorn,  and  from  life  be- 
cause of  death  :  this  it  is  to  be 
afraid  of  Pan.  Highly  respectable 
citizens  who  flee  life's  pleasures 
and  responsibilities  and  keep, 
with  upright  hat,  upon  the  mid- 
way of  custom,  avoiding  the 
right  hand  and  the  left,  the  ecs- 
tasies and  the  agonies,  how  sur- 
prised they  would  be  if  they 
could  hear  their  attitude  mytho- 
logically  expressed,  and  knew 
themselves  as  tooth-chattering 


ones,  who  flee  from  Nature  be- 
cause they  fear  the  hand  of  Nat- 
ure's God !  Shrilly  sound  Pan's 
pipes  ;  and  behold  the  banker 
instantly  concealed  in  the  bank 
parlour!  For  to  distrust  one's 
impulses  is  to  be  recreant  to  Pan. 
There  are  moments  when  the 
mind  refuses  to  be  satisfied  with 
evolution,  and  demands  a  rud- 
dier presentation  of  the  sum  of 
man's  experience.  Sometimes  the 
mood  is  brought  about  by  laugh- 
ter at  the  humorous  side  of  life, 
as  when,  abstracting  ourselves 
from  earth,  we  imagine  people 
plodding  on  foot,  or  seated  in 


ships  and  speedy  trains,  with 
the  planet  all  the  while  whirling 
in  the  opposite  direction,  so  that, 
for  all  their  hurry,  they  travel 
back-foremost  through  the  uni- 
verse of  space.  Sometimes  it 
comes  by  the  spirit  of  delight, 
and  sometimes  by  the  spirit  of 
terror.  At  least,  there  will  always 
be  hours  when  we  refuse  to  be 
put  off  by  the  feint  of  explana- 
tion, nicknamed  science ;  and  de- 
mand instead  some  palpitating 
image  of  our  estate,  that  shall 
represent  the  troubled  and  uncer- 
tain element  in  which  we  dwell, 
and  satisfy  reason  by  the  means 


of  art.  Science  writes  of  the 
world  as  if  with  the  cold  finger  of 
a  starfish ;  it  is  all  true ;  but  what 
is  it  when  compared  to  the  real- 
ity of  which  it  discourses?  where 
hearts  beat  high  in  April,  and 
death  strikes,  and  hills  totter  in 
the  earthquake,  and  there  is  a 
glamour  over  all  the  objects  of 
sight,  and  a  thrill  in  all  noises  for 
the  ear,  and  Romance  herself  has 
made  her  dwelling  among  men? 
So  we  come  back  to  the  old  myth, 
and  hear  the  goat-footed  piper 
making  the  music  which  is  itself 
the  charm  and  terror  of  things ; 
and  when  a  glen  invites  our  vis- 


king  footsteps,  fancy  that  Pan 
leads  us  thither  with  a  gracious 
tremolo ;  or  when  our  hearts 
quail  at  the  thunder  of  the  cata- 
ract, tell  ourselves  that  he  has 
stamped  his  hoof  in  the  nigh 
thicket. 


PUBLISHED    BY    HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN 
COMPANY  :    BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 


FIVE     HUNDRED     AND     FIFTY     COPIES 
PRINTED    AT    THE     RIVERSIDE    PRESS 


